


Heart of a Warrior

by MrsLydiaSimcoe



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-17 01:17:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20612546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsLydiaSimcoe/pseuds/MrsLydiaSimcoe
Summary: Lydia Strong lives in Setauket, New York, alongside her brother Selah and his wife Anna. She's a Patriot, just like the rest of her family had been, and practically hates all the redcoats. One of the British officers, John Graves Simcoe, becomes infatuated with her, and she honestly does not know how to feel about that. Anna and her childhood friend Abe Woodhull warn to her steer clear of Simcoe, though the Brit makes it quite difficult to do this by turning up everywhere she was. She doesn't exactly hate him, but she definitely didn't like him, either. She had seen him well enough be an arrogant, rude prick, but he was always kind and polite to her.As time goes on, Lydia becomes more and more confused on her emotions towards the British captain. With Abe becoming a spy for the Continentals, Anna immediately begins to assist him, and Lydia wants to, also, but the former two would rather her stay out of the way and not cause trouble. Lydia, feeling belittled, attempts to help, anyways, but it doesn't help her with Simcoe almost always being in the same place she is. Anna and Abe continued trying to steer Lydia away from the redcoat, but Lydia debates whether to follow her childhood friends' advice or not.





	1. Chapter 1

Regulars were probably the rudest men there ever were. They couldn’t (or wouldn’t) fold their bedding, they didn’t care how messy they made the floors with their fancy boots, and they practically treated their hosts like dirt. Even worse, they inspired the local men to grow a little fouler in behavior when they were drunk. And Lydia was getting pretty tired of it. She hated feeling like a slave to these king’s men that she didn’t even agree with. _But_ she had to act like a perfect, rule-following lady so that there wouldn’t be any trouble for her, her brother, and his wife, the only family she really had left. The only reason Lydia really followed through with this was to keep her family from being hanged. If it wasn’t for Selah and Anna, Lydia was sure she herself would’ve been hanged for treason months ago.

It's not that Lydia liked to cause trouble. Before the redcoats had invaded, Lydia was known as a well-behaved young girl who was a perfect example of her family. She still was a perfect example of her family, but in a very different respect. The Strongs had been known as a good, wealthy family who had been one of the main producers of Setauket. They were now branded as a suspected patriot family who would be all too pleased to rid America of redcoats and have their own government rather than England’s. Of course, that was correct, but they couldn’t go outright and say that, otherwise the Strong family would’ve all been hanged probably just after the redcoats had taken the town. Lydia actually wouldn’t have minded dying for what she believed for, but Selah, the ever-overprotective older brother, prevented her from doing so. He was her authority and she had to listen to him, no matter how reluctant she was to do so. She would not see the Oyster Major (more commonly known as Major Hewlett) and the rest of the bloody-backs as her authority, no matter what anybody said. Hewlett was a petty man who obviously hadn’t been in battle before, and was only experienced with writing up documents and overseeing hangings. He wasn’t a strong leader but a weak and pathetic worm. He wasn’t anything like General Washington.

Thinking things like that would get Lydia hanged straightaway, and the reason why Selah always had to keep a good eye on her at practically all times. She knew he meant well, and that she probably needed his watchful eye on her, but it was annoying, for the most part, maybe even a little nerve-wracking.

But what was more nerve-wracking was that she was being watched by more than just her brother. A British lieutenant named John Simcoe seemed to always be at the tavern when she was, always at the market when she was, and on guard duty whenever she went past his post. Yes, he had assisted her at one point, and maybe even saved her life, but Lydia hadn’t asked him to practically stalk her.

Maybe she should be a bit more grateful to Lieutenant Simcoe, but Lydia was a bit afraid of him. Not much scared her, but Simcoe did. It wasn’t just he being particularly tall and widely-built, or his keen, steely, sometimes icy blue eyes, or his small, cold, cunning smirk. He was a bit cruel when it came to the townspeople, unforgiving when they did the slightest thing wrong, and merciless when it came to punishment.

But not for Lydia.

He was different around her. Pleasant and polite when she served him at the tavern, always asking how her day had been (no one other than Selah did that, so she always stammered in her reply), and always telling her that if she needed anything, she could always come to him. _Like I’d go to a bloody redcoat before my brother. Especially one that gives me goosebumps whenever I notice him looking at me._

He never gave _her_ a reason to fear him, but the way he acted around anyone else was what frightened her.

Lydia finished straightening the bedsheets of one of the redcoats’ rooms (she didn’t remember whose; possibly that especially awful man, Corporal Eastin) and exited the room, closing the door softly behind her before making her way downstairs. She let out a little groan when she heard the voice of a local Tory oyster farmer and drunkard, John Robeson.

“Bloody news, bloody news! ‘Where are the rebels now? To the brave Patriot commander on the eve of his retreat—pardon, his _charge_ into northern New Jersey’.”

Laughter exploded from the soldiers as Lydia reached the last step and came into the room, surprised to see her lifetime friend Abraham Woodhull there, along with her brother and Anna. She made her way over to them, offering a little smile and a quiet ‘hello’ to Abe, who nodded in return, before they both turned their attention to Robeson, who was standing on one of the tables. Lydia sighed, rolling her eyes, knowing that it’d be awful to try to wash later tonight.

“’Pulled back from the line, a most propitious sign, for Mrs. Washington, that sow’,” Robeson continued, earning more laughter from the soldiers. Lydia clenched her fist angrily. “’Alas, before his return, dear Georgie must discern in what place he should sheathe his saber. But surely— ‘”

Selah suddenly came over to Anna and Lydia, a determined and angry look on his face.

“Go upstairs,” he told his wife and sister, before turning around and making his way closer to Robeson.

“Selah, don’t,” Anna protested, and Lydia bit her lip, knowing this wouldn’t be good.

“’…the joke of it all is that his scabbard calls for any puff’s sword he can stow’,” Robeson finished, and the redcoats roared with laughter and pounded their fists on the table. Lydia gritted her teeth, at that moment almost wishing she were a man so that it wouldn’t be as uncouth to go up to Robeson and punch him square in the face.

“Get out, Robeson,” Selah told the man, and though she couldn’t see his face, Lydia could imagine the look of restrained fury he probably had right now.

“I’m sorry, did I offend your sensitive liberal puff cake?” Robeson asked mockingly, getting off the table and staggering slightly as he made his way up to Selah with a newspaper in one hand and a mug of ale in the other.

“You offended my wife and my sister. Now, leave,” Selah responded curtly.

“Come off it, man. We’re celebrating your king’s victory in New York,” one of the redcoats said airily, and Lydia barely resisted a grimace as she recognized that it was Captain Joyce, the one bloody-back she hated most.

“Though we understand how that might upset a certain delegate to the Provincial Congress,” Robeson jeered.

“Drunk,” Selah growled.

“Whig,” Robeson hissed back.

Selah went to rip the newspaper out of Robeson’s hand when Robeson’s other hand jerked up and sideways, spilling ale all over Captain Joyce. _Uh oh._

Joyce flicked some of the ale off his hands, before looking up at Selah, standing and grabbing Selah’s jacket. “You stupid—”

Lydia instinctively went forward to—well, she didn’t know what, but to do _something_ to assist her brother when she felt someone grab her arm and they said, “Lydia, don’t, don’t, don’t.” It was Abe. Lydia reluctantly stopped but looked back towards Selah, in time to see him shove Joyce away from himself. Joyce half-fell, half-staggered backwards and smashed his glass, cutting his hand. Fear shot through Lydia, knowing already that Joyce, being the rotten maggot he was, would testify that Selah had cut him purposefully, perhaps with a knife or broken glass, and Selah—_oh, no, no, no…_

Joyce rammed into Selah, sending the latter flying into a table and falling to the ground, groaning with pain. Lydia gasped her brother’s name, eyes going huge, and she went to rush forward again when Abe once more stopped her, giving her a warning glance. Lydia shot back a heated look, feeling completely awful about not being able to aid her brother (because if she was able to, she most certainly would).

Abe suddenly moved from Lydia’s and Anna’s side, going in front of Joyce and saying, “Let me help you. Let me get that for you.”

“Out of my way,” Joyce growled, and Abe got behind him, beginning to pull off Joyce’s coat. One of the other redcoats stepped up behind Abe, bringing his pistol up and resting the end of it on the back of Abe’s neck. Lydia gasped, a hand flying up to her mouth, but was otherwise frozen in a state of terror.

“Release the captain, please,” the redcoat said in a somewhat high voice, and only then did she realize that he was Simcoe; no other man Lydia knew had a naturally high-pitched tone of voice like that.

Simcoe cocked his gun, his finger ready to pull the trigger. Abe let go of Joyce, holding his hands up in the air as he said, “Of course.” Joyce turned around as he pulled his coat back onto his shoulders, then sent a punch to Abe’s gut, causing the latter to fall to the ground with a groan. Joyce began kicking Abe, and the other redcoats got up and joined in, kicking both Abe and Selah. Lydia watched, horrified, and she barely felt Anna’s hand slip into one of her own. Lydia looked up and, strangely, her eyes met Simcoe’s. His own blue eyes were somewhat wide, but not with horror like her’s. He tilted his head slightly and shrugged his shoulders a little as if to almost mockingly say _what can you do?_ Lydia stared back, appalled by the expression on his face. _How dare he be so calm and mocking about this!_

When the bloody-backs finally stopped beating Abe and Selah, they tied their hands behind their backs and took the two down to the cellars. Lydia watched from a window as the redcoats shoved her brother and her friend down the steps, biting her lip. There was no doubt what the fate of Selah and Abe were, but Lydia tried her best to not allow her mind to wander to it. She was unable to do so, however, when Robeson offered to help select a tree that would hold two nooses. Upon hearing that, Anna rushed upstairs, attempting to muffle her sobs. Lydia debated whether she should follow her sister-in-law to comfort her or to stay down and continue working. She reluctantly decided on the latter, serving out more drinks upon the customers’ request. Most of the other redcoats eventually came back, other than Joyce (who had probably gone to inform Hewlett of the situation) and another who was probably serving as a guard for Selah and Abe. They acted as if nothing happened, angering Lydia, though she did her best to hide it.

Perhaps it was because of who he was, or how he had been the one to put a gun to Abe, or his expression as Selah and Abe had been beaten up; whatever the case, Lydia was more furious with Simcoe than with the other redcoats (other than Joyce, of course), and she unintentionally used a punitive tone of voice as she set down his mug of ale and told him, “Here you are.” She was about to walk away when he said, “I am sorry that things turned in an unsavory direction, Ms. Strong.”

Lydia turned back around and looked down at him, trying to keep her ire out of her gaze. His own eyes displayed a certain truthfulness that almost made Lydia want to believe him, that he was truly sorry that Selah was… no, she wouldn’t say it, wouldn’t think it—

“It must be hard for you to lose first your parents, then your husband, and now your only brother,” Simcoe continued, surprisingly softly, but that didn’t stop the pain to renew within her heart. She did not, _whatsoever_, need to remember all that she had already lost in life. She turned and hurried away from the lieutenant, blinking away the sudden tears as she continued with her work. Anna eventually joined her, and they went about the rest of the day trying to not think of the fates of Selah and Abe.

***

Lydia did not join Anna when the latter went home to Strong Manor after the tavern closed. Lydia continued cleaning around the ground floor, making sure to keep quiet to not disturb the bloody-backs upstairs. She always kept an eye on one of the windows, hoping to see when her brother and Abe would be brought out of the cellar and taken to the pillory. This happened around midnight, and when she saw the two men being led out of the cellar, she raced to the window, practically pressing her face up against it as if to get closer to them. She frowned when she saw who she believed to be Simcoe come up behind Abe and slice the rope that bound his wrists together. Lydia’s frown deepened as the redcoats continued on, and nobody drove Abe forward towards the pillory along with Selah. She saw Abe look behind himself, towards the tavern. She couldn’t quite see his face well enough to make out his expression, but she was sure he could see he peeking out the window and was looking sympathetic. Lydia shut her eyes, fighting back the nearly overwhelming wretchedness she felt welling up inside her. When she opened them again, the bloody-backs and Selah were out of sight, heading towards the pillory, while Abe was a distant figure, making his way towards his own home. Lydia sighed, drawing away from the window. She heard the drums of Joyce’s men calling for retreat and rolled her eyes; Joyce always had his men play at the most peculiar times, it seemed. She sat down at one of the tables, propping her chin up with a hand. She stared at nothing in particular, emotion intensifying in her eyes and throat again.

There was no point in avoiding it.

Selah was being hanged tomorrow.

Not only his life would be ruined, but Anna’s and Lydia’s, too. Not as drastically as Selah’s, but they’d still wouldn’t be too well off. With no one to take Selah’s place as head of the family, probably all of the Strong’s possessions would be taken—the manor, the tavern, the slaves, the crops—everything. Lydia and Anna might still work at the tavern, but for someone else rather than themselves. They’d probably have to take up residence at the tavern and pay rent while still trying to provide from themselves.

Lydia swallowed back a sob; she wasn’t ready for this. She wasn’t ready to live on her own, without her brother and her only companion being her sister-in-law. She wasn’t ready to face the world without the man who’d been by her side for her whole life, offering his protection and guidance. Maybe he _did_ go overboard with his almost-possessiveness over her, but it was better than him not caring for her at all. It was better for him to be there more often then need be, rather than not there at all.

_Stop thinking like this, before you turn yourself into a weeping mess,_ Lydia scolded herself. She gritted her teeth together, wiping her eyes to rid them of tears. She folded her arms in front of her and laid her chin down. She closed her eyes, mind whirling, wishing this were all a dream.

***

Lydia must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew, her eyes fluttered open to see the candles having barely enough wax to burn, and rain was pelting the roof. Lydia groaned softly, standing up and going to replace the candles, which she kept unlit, deciding to return home before it got too late—or, at least before it got any later. She grabbed her cloak, putting it on and bringing to hood up over her head, before opening the door and quietly slipping out, shutting the door softly behind her.

The rain was pouring steadily, almost enough to deter Lydia from heading back to Strong Manor. But she decided to not play a whiner and resolved that her home wasn’t that far outside of town, that she’d be warm and dry before long.

The chill of the raindrops made Lydia immediately began to shiver as she stepped out from the shelter of the eaves of the roof. She folded her arms tightly around her and shoved her hands into her armpits in attempt from them from getting as cold as icicles. She began making her way away from the tavern, but stopped in her tracks when her gaze wandered towards the pillory. To think that Selah was there, alone, soaking wet and most likely shivering violently made her heart wrench. With a sudden determination, she turned off the road and began walking quickly in the direction of the pillory. With the rain falling as heavily as it was now, the lazy redcoat sentry was more than likely to be takin shelter in the church (she hardly ever thought of it as the garrison), so she would be able to see her brother without being seen by the sentry.

When she got close enough to the pillory, she only realized that she was coming up behind Selah when she heard him call, “Who is it? Abe, if it’s you again, I swear—”

“Selah, it’s me,” Lydia interrupted, coming to the front side of the pillory. Seeing his hair plastered to his face and how hard he was trembling from the cold made Lydia want to cry.

“Lydia, what are you doing out here?” Selah asked in his stern, older-brotherly manner.

“I wasn’t going to not see you before they—they—” Lydia couldn’t bring herself to say it, it was too horrible—

“I’m not going to be hanged,” he told her, and Lydia looked up sharply.

“You—you’re _not_?” A harsh bubble of hope formed within her, her eyes widening.

“No, I’m being sent to the _Jersey_,” Selah replied.

“_What?_ Who told you that? Surely not the bloody-backs?” asked in disbelief.

“No, no, it was Abe,” Selah answered.

“Abe? He was here?”

“Yes. And I told him if he took care of you and Anna while I’m gone, I’ll forgive him of his debt.”

“What? What debt? And Abe has his own family to look after, he’s not going to have time—”

“I know he has his own family to look after,” Selah said sharply. “But he’s held… _affections_ for both of you at one point, and we all grew up together, so I’m sure he won’t mind. And he asked for money to borrow a ways back; he’s only repaid half of it. That’s why he was in the tavern yesterday.”

The two were silent, and Lydia thoughts wandered to what was going to happen tomorrow. She sucked in a shaky breath, unable to prevent a few tears from slipping down her cheeks. She hoped that they were concealed by the rain, but apparently they weren’t, because Selah said gently, “It will all be alright, Lydia. I won’t be gone forever.”

“B—but people _die_ on those damn prison ships,” Lydia said in a wavering voice. She was glad no one but her brother was here right now; she hated crying to begin with, and especially loathed when people were around to see her appear so weak.

“Just because I’ll be gone doesn’t mean you can’t be ladylike,” Selah told her firmly. “And I won’t die.”

“You don’t know that.”

They were again silent for a few moments, before Lydia whimpered, “Oh, Selah,” and gently laid her hands over his cheeks, kissing his forehead softly. She didn’t try to keep back the tears now; they ran down her face along with the rain.

“Don’t despair, Lydia. I _will_ return,” Selah told her.

Lydia grabbed one of his hands, now just about frozen-cold, and rubbed it with her thumb.

“I’ll pray every night in hope you do,” Lydia sniffled.

“That’s the best you can do,” Selah said quietly.

“And try to purchase your parole,” Lydia choked out, hating the sound of it.

“Once you’re able to. But I think Anna should do that.”

“Why not me?” Lydia asked sharply.

“Because, if you lose your temper at the Major—”

“The Oyster Major.”

Selah sighed, “If you lose your temper at the Major _and_ the magistrate, you will be punished and there would be no hope for being released.”

Lydia thought about this, then huffed, but nodded.

“I’ll tell Anna what you said,” she murmured. She kissed his forehead again and said, “I’ll miss you more than you will ever know.”

“I’ll miss you too, Lydia. I’ll always keep you in my thoughts.”

“And you’ll be in mine,” Lydia choked out.

“Go back to the manor before you freeze to death,” Selah ordered her, and Lydia nodded again. She kissed his forehead one last time before drawing her cloak around her, barely able to make herself turn away and head away from her brother and back towards Strong Manor.

When she got there, Anna immediately came into the room, a somewhat irritated look on her face.

“Why did it take you so long to get back? I was worried!” she said in a scolding tone.

“I fell asleep for a bit, and then I went to Selah before I came back,” Lydia replied snappishly.

“With the sentry there? Lydia, you are the most reckless—”

“You’re one to talk, and the comfort-loving sentry was staying dry in the church.”

“The garrison,” Anna corrected.

“I don’t see it as the garrison, Anna. Selah said that he’s not going to be hanged; he’s being sent to the prison ship, the _Jersey_.”

“Who told him that?”

“Abe. Apparently, he went to the pillory to tell Selah that. And I guess Selah said that he’d forgive Abe of his debt as long as Abe _took care of us_,” Lydia snorted, taking off her cloak and hanging it up.

“Se—_Selah_ said that?” Anna asked, confusedly.

“Isn’t that what I said? Anyway, he’s got his own family to look after, so don’t expect him here every day to check up on you,” Lydia said, somewhat mockingly. No matter how much they tried to hide it, Lydia knew that Abe and Anna hadn’t stopped loving each other, even when Abe broke their secret engagement. She had a bit of a grudge against the both of them since she’d notice Abe’s and Anna’s feelings for each other hadn’t gone away, even after they both married someone else (though she was angrier at Anna, since she’d married Selah but still love another). Lydia just couldn’t resist hinting to the two (mainly Anna) that she, Lydia, knew of Abe’s and Anna’s ‘secret’.

“Checking on _us_,” Anna reproached, “And I didn’t expect him to.”

“Just making sure,” Lydia grumbled before going upstairs to get ready for bed.

All Lydia could think about as she undressed, washed her face, and got into bed was Selah. She didn’t know much about the _Jersey_, and all she knew came from rumors. Rumors of the pitiful condition, rumors of how awfully the prisoners were treated, rumors of the amount of people who died of things like dysentery and scurvy…

_Stop. You’re just going to wind yourself up and you’ll never get to sleep,_ Lydia scolded herself as she pulled the bedsheet up to her chin. Still, despite her efforts, Lydia wasn’t able to fall asleep for a while, and when she did, her mind was troubled with the usual nightmare. But added to the normal gunshot and her own screams was Selah, his sad, pitiful, wet face in the background as she saw her husband shot dead.


	2. Chapter 2

Lydia awoke early the next morning, around dawn, and quickly dressed. She’d almost forgotten that Selah wasn’t there, and only remembered when she came down to the kitchen and saw that he wasn’t already eating breakfast. Selah had always been the first to awaken in the morning, even before the slaves, and was always just about to finish his breakfast by the time Lydia came down. The tavern always had to be open early, and it sometimes took Selah a while to get himself fully awake, resulting in him waking up as early as possible to give him plenty of time to make sure he was ready for the upcoming day.  
Thinking of Selah made Lydia want to cry, but she stopped herself from doing so. She needed to stay strong, if only but for Anna. Even if they did have many disagreements and often butted heads, Lydia had known Anna for her own entire nineteen years of life, and Lydia did care for Anna, if only as a friend. So, Lydia sucked in a breath, wiped her eyes hastily on her sleeve, and prepared herself and Anna some breakfast. By the time Anna came down, the porridge was ready, and Lydia set out the bowls for herself and Anna.   
They ate in silence until Anna told Lydia, “I’ll look after the tavern today if you stay and help run the house.”  
Lydia nodded, not feeling up to serving anyone, especially any redcoats, today. If she stayed and helped do the chores alongside the slaves, she wouldn’t have to come face to face with many bloody-backs all day long. She’d probably only see them towards the end of the day when they came back from their duties in town. There’d be less chance of Lydia snapping at them, meaning less chance that she’d get in trouble. Which was a good thing, overall, though it was bound to happen at some point, now that Selah wasn’t here.

After she finished her breakfast, Lydia took her’s and Anna’s dishes and quickly washed them, setting them back in their proper places before going out to assist with the laundry. It was a bit of a long process, and if one wanted to get it down as quickly as possible, multiple people would have to help out. Lydia decided that she’d beat out the bloody-backs coats to rid them of as much excess water as possible before hanging them up to dry. After all, you couldn’t hang up a sopping-wet coat; it would be so heavy that it’d probably snap the clothes line. Or, at least sag down so much that it’d touch the ground, making it dirty again and ruining all the work put into cleaning it. The redcoats wouldn’t tolerate a single thread of their stupid coats to be dirty. Arrogant little shitheads.

Lydia was somewhat surprised that she found beating out the coats almost soothing. She was able to take her anger and grief out on something that wouldn’t report her to the Oyster Major, which she found nearly mollifying. Though she thought it might be a bit overboard, she imagined the faces of the people (mainly redcoats) she hated most on the coats as she beat them. First, she’d beat Joyce. WHAM. WHAM. WHAM.   
Then Robeson. WHAM. WHAM. WHAM.   
Then Eastin. WHAM. WHAM. WHAM.   
Then the Oyster Major. WHAM. WHAM. WHAM.  
Then, maybe Simcoe—

“Ms. Strong.”  
Lydia looked up, startled, to see Simcoe himself standing in front of her.   
“You all right?” he asked, and Lydia tried to think that she was imagining the possible worry in his voice.  
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I didn’t hear you,” Lydia apologized, avoiding the question that definitely had an obvious answer. She grabbed the coat she had been previously beating quite harshly, and, seeing it was actually dry, hastily folded it up.  
“Captain,” Simcoe corrected. “I purchased Captain Joyce’s commission in the wake of his death.”  
Lydia looked up, shocked.  
“Death?” she echoed, trying to not let on the slight joy she felt in that.  
“His body was found this morning in a field with his throat slit. You haven’t heard?”  
Lydia shook her head, “No, I… I’ve been at home. Anna went to run the tavern today and I decided to stay here.”  
“Have you seen Abraham Woodhull?” Simcoe inquired.  
“What? No, not since last night. Why are you asking me this?” Lydia questioned, about to grab another coat to beat out.  
“An officer in His Majesty’s Army is dead following an altercation with your brother and with Mr. Woodhull. Now, your brother has been shipped off to prison and Mr. Woodhull is nowhere to be found.”  
Lydia accidently dropped the paddle she’d been holding at the mention of her brother, and her bones felt chilled at someone actually saying that he’d been… sent away. Almost as soon as she dropped the paddle, Simcoe leaned down and picked it up, then straightened and held it out to her. She glanced up at him almost warily, taking the paddle slowly as her breathing became heavy.  
“Ma’am, I meant no—” Simcoe began, but Lydia set down the paddle and headed back towards the house, a lump growing in throat.  
“Wait,” Simcoe called, and Lydia slowed to a stop.   
“Accept my apology.”  
Lydia turned around, holding her hands close to herself. Simcoe came over to her somewhat slowly, and Lydia bit her lip out of nervous habit.

“I know how you must feel… with your brother gone, in your house alone,” he said sympathetically, only stopping when he was right in front of her. Lydia looked down at her—no, their feet; that’s how close he was to her—  
“I can only imagine your distress. You need someone to protect you,” he continued, bringing his hand up and gently but a bit firmly grabbing her arm. Lydia’s heart practically hammered in her chest with almost fear; she wasn’t sure if it even was of fear, or from something else.  
“C—Captain, I beg you, if you are a gentleman, let me attend to my house in peace,” Lydia stammered, though she already knew the answer to her statement; Simcoe was a two-faced man who was only gentlemanlike to a select few people, her included, for whatever reason.  
There was a bit of silence before Simcoe let go of her arm, much to Lydia’s relief.  
“Thank you,” she murmured, turning back around and heading towards the house.  
“I shall have my laundry ready by week’s end,” Simcoe called after her, causing Lydia to stop in her tracks. What?  
“This is my house, too. I’m to be quartered here by order of Major Hewlett. I’ve already chosen which room,” Simcoe said to her as he passed her and made his way to the house. Lydia’s heart continued to beat fast as she thought of Simcoe living in the same house as she. If Selah knew, she could only imagine his reaction. And she really didn’t want to imagine his reaction, so she didn’t try. Anna probably wouldn’t be much better when she came home and found out. Both Anna and Selah had noticed Simcoe practically tailing Lydia (who wouldn’t notice? At times, Simcoe was very obvious) and both had despised the man. They’d probably kept an eye on Simcoe, just to make sure he didn’t make an advance on Lydia; she was almost certain that Selah probably had.   
But now, there was no Selah to watch over her. Lydia was absolutely definite that there would be more encounters with Simcoe, and there was no one to stand in the way. No one to stop Simcoe if he was determined enough to… to do whatever in the world he wanted to do. And that most certainly worried Lydia. She just hoped that Simcoe was gentlemanly enough to not try anything that could ensue in anything particularly—no, she wouldn’t think that, Simcoe wasn’t that… well, obsessed with her… was he? Lydia surely hoped not.

***

Later that night, Lydia tried to find a way to tell Anna about Simcoe being billeted at the Strong Manor, but couldn’t find a way to do so without coming right out and saying it, and Lydia really didn’t want to do that. So, Anna found out by walking up to her room for the night and passing the newly-made Captain on her way. Instead of heading to her own room, she practically stormed into Lydia’s room, where she was at the moment, preparing for bed. Lydia nearly leaped out of her skin when the door swung open and Anna marched in, barely avoiding in slamming the door behind her.  
“Why didn’t you tell me that Simcoe was here?” Anna asked sharply.  
“He’s been billeted here, by order of the Oyster Major—”  
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Anna pressed.  
“I—I tried, but I didn’t know how!” Lydia snapped.  
“You could have just told me straight out!”  
“I didn’t want to do that.”  
“Well, you should have!”  
“Look, we can’t do anything about it, so let’s not argue about it,” Lydia growled, surprised that she was the one saying this and not Anna, which was how it usually went whenever they were in the middle of their seemingly daily arguments.   
“I’m just saying you should have told me rather than letting me pass by him in the hall!”  
“I’m sorry, alright? If he dies and another captain is billeted here, I’ll tell you. But I don’t see that happening, so let’s just not worry about it.”  
The two were silent for a minute, and Lydia went back to preparing for bed. She was once again somewhat startled by Anna when she suddenly asked, “Has he done anything to you?”  
Lydia looked up, frowning a bit, and Anna explained, “Simcoe. Has he done anything to you?”  
“No,” Lydia shook her head. “He only said earlier that he can only imagine my distress… about everything, you know… and he said that I… that I, erm…”  
“That you what?” Anna inquired sharply.  
“That I needed, um, someone, to… to protect me,” Lydia said quietly.  
“Oh, that foul man!” Anna hissed. “All he will cause is trouble. He’s most certainly going to take advantage of the fact that Selah’s not—”  
“Shh! What if he can hear you?” Lydia demanded, worriedly casting a look towards the closed door. She hadn’t heard any activity from outside the room, but Lydia wouldn’t doubt that Simcoe could and would slink silently around and eavesdrop on anyone he pleased.  
“Aren’t you angry?” Anna asked heatedly, though she did lower her voice.  
“Angry? Angry at who? You?” Lydia grumbled.  
“No, not me! Lydia, you can be so thick,” Anna scolded.  
“Tell me what you mean then!” Lydia snapped.  
“Aren’t you angry at Simcoe? For following you everywhere, for always poking in on your business?”  
“He doesn’t ‘poke in on my business’, he just is everywhere I am. And I’m not angry—”  
“Why not? If it were me, I’d never be able to stay polite around him.”  
“Well, good thing he isn’t all after you, then,” Lydia growled. “And I’m more frightened of him, rather than angry. Maybe he’s just concerned for the wellbeing of the younger, unmarried women of the town.”  
“He doesn’t trail anyone else other than you, and you know it. Why are you defending him? He’s a monster.”  
“He’s not a monster. He’s a human, just like you and me.” Lydia truly didn’t know why she was arguing for Simcoe’s side at this moment; she found it quite strange that she, of all people, was defending a redcoat.  
I’m not defending him. I’m just telling Anna the facts—Simcoe isn’t a monster. He might be cruel but he isn’t a monster…  
… and that’s probably defending him.

“He is a monster and you know it!” Anna hissed. Out of all of the bloody redcoats, you decide to defend him? Stop trying to prove there is good in him when there obviously isn’t.”  
That, for whatever reason, struck a nerve of Lydia’s, and she narrowed her eyes to glare beadily at Anna.  
“We’ve all got light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. And that doesn’t just go for him; it goes for everyone else, too.”  
“And Simcoe acts on the ‘dark’ part, as you call it. You wouldn’t say this for Joyce, or Eastin, or any of the other redcoats there that night—”  
Anna broke off, but it was too late; Lydia’s temper snapped.  
“Get out of here, now,” Lydia told Anna coldly, hating the icy feeling that crept over her, but she didn’t know how else to get her point across.   
Anna went to say something, but stopped, casting a regretful glance at Lydia before quickly leaving the room, closing the door behind her.

Why, why, why did she have to mention it? Lydia thought despairingly, quickly stripping of her day-clothes and slipping into a nightgown. She went around the room, blowing out all but one of the candles, which she set on her night table. She climbed into bed while trying to get rid of the image of her husband being shot as the scene played over and over inside her mind. Lydia drew her knees up to her chin and hugging her legs, blinking rapidly. She hated, just absolutely hated crying, and she’d been doing it a lot more than usual as of late. She’d always been tough, able to keep up with her brother and his friends, though they were all at least seven years older than she. Though it was improper for little girls following older boys around doing boyish things, Lydia had done it, anyway.   
She learned to become resilient, and fast. Lydia kept that resilience as she grew up, and she was glad she did; she needed it in the past five years of her life. Her and Selah’s parents died five years ago from a plague, leaving Selah and then fourteen-year-old Lydia with no one but each other. Then, of course, Lydia… well, lost Jedidiah just over five months ago.   
Despite her resoluteness, Lydia as of late found it harder and harder to not begin crying, which caused her to be angry with herself. She wanted to be a tough, tenacious woman, not a pathetic, weeping girl. And lately, she’d been more of the weakling rather than the strong woman; this just fed her anger at herself. It was just a vicious circle, and Lydia didn’t know how to stop it.  
She finally gave in to the cavernous feeling inside her and began crying. She made sure to bury her face into her knees to muffle her sobs, to make sure no one out in the hall could hear. Apparently, she didn’t mute her crying well enough, because a quiet knock sounded at her door, and a somewhat stifled voice called, “Ms. Strong? Are you all right?”  
Though the voice wasn’t totally clear, it was unmistakably Simcoe. Oh, great. Not him.

Lydia quickly got out of bed, wiping her eyes hastily with her sleeve, before grabbing the candle on her night table and hurrying over to the door. She opened it to reveal, of course, Simcoe. She was a bit taken aback seeing him in dark magenta bed robes and no wig (which showed he barely had any hair underneath, probably not enough to say he had hair) rather than his usual bloody-back uniform, though she tried not to show it.   
“W—what can I do for you, Captain?” Lydia asked quietly, looking up at him, trying to keep the wariness out of her eyes and voice.  
“I was only wondering if everything was all right and if I can do anything for you if it wasn’t,” Simcoe answered, staring at her with a certain keenness that made Lydia squirm inside.  
“Why wouldn’t everything be a—all right, sir?” Lydia questioned, then mentally slapped herself in the face. Wrong answer. Damn, I can’t think properly with him around.  
“I was passing by your room and I was sure I heard you weeping,” Simcoe told her, tilting his head the slightest bit. “No one weeps for the fun of it.”  
Lydia might have found the statement funny if she wasn’t so distressed and nervous at that moment.  
“I—I’ll do just fine on my own, sir,” she stammered in reply. “Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do for you?”  
“Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do for you?” Simcoe asked right back.  
“Yes, sir, I—I will do just fine.”  
Simcoe stared at her for a few moments later before he nodded once, then turned away from the door and walked away. Lydia quickly shut the door, pressing her back against it and breathing heavily. Her mind was a whirling mess of emotions and questions, wonders and worries. She was mainly concerned and pondering why, out of all the women in Setauket, would Simcoe take an interest in her? Not only was she a previously married woman, widowed at the age of eighteen, but she belonged to a family associated with Patriot activity. For the most part, the citizens of Setauket supported the British, being Tories and such. Nowadays, Patriotic families or the families of those who had gone to fight on the Continental side were despised by most of everyone, and had little status in the town’s new hierarchy. The Tallmadges were probably the only exception, due to the head of the family, Nathaniel Tallmadge, being the reverend of Setauket before the bloody-backs came in and took the church and used it as their stables (which was an act of evil, in Lydia’s eyes).  
And more so, she had a temper. A temper that she hid the best she could, which wasn’t very well at times. A temper was definitely something that made any man turn away. So why was Simcoe not doing that, turning away? Lydia wished she knew.


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next couple of days, Lydia felt like she was being worn to a frazzle. Abe was still missing, Anna was giving her an extra-hard time on practically everything, and Simcoe was still up to his old ways, except now, he not only was everywhere she was outside the house, but was wherever she was inside the house, as well (except, thank goodness, her bedroom and the outhouse). It didn’t matter whether she was at the tavern or helping the slaves at home; he was always there. Lydia didn’t know if it was good or not, but she’d become a bit more accustomed to seeing Simcoe everywhere. But that didn’t mean she liked it. She was still, for the most part, scared of him.

Lydia was making sure to keep herself busy at all times, whether it was working exceptionally hard at the tavern or at the manor; by the end of the day, she was tired enough to sleep without the usual nightmares (most of the time). And with all that has been going on lately, Lydia definitely needed a good night’s sleep at the end of each day.  
Though before she’d been annoyed with how busy the tavern could get, she thankfully accepted it now. Working kept her mind off things. Well, mostly. 

Tonight, the tavern had a good flow of customers, and she was indeed kept busy. At around nine in the evening, the ale had run out, and Lydia had lit a lantern to go out to the cellar to get another barrel. She was used to carrying the barrels, but she’d always done it with Selah’s assistance. Lydia worried that, without any help, she would be unable to carry the barrel up the cellar stairs and into the tavern. As she made her way to the cellar, she could feel someone’s eyes on her, and there was no doubt who was watching her.  
Once at the bottom of the cellar, she set down the lantern and closed her eyes, letting out a sigh slowly. The soldiers could be faintly heard, singing drunkenly and quite stupidly, in Lydia’s opinion. She opened her eyes again, worriedly regarding the barrels, and wishing that at least Anna was here to help her. But it was Anna’s turn to help at the manor, and Lydia’s to run the tavern. There was no one to help her now. Feeling awkward, Lydia went to tip the barrel up when a voice said from behind her, “Lydia? Where’s Anna?”  
Lydia gasped, spinning around and being incredibly surprised to find herself looking into the face of Abe.

“Abe? Where have you been? You’ve been missing for days! You haven’t been down here the whole time, surely?”  
“Of course not,” Abe rolled his eyes. “Where is Anna?”  
“She’s at the manor, you lovesick loon,” Lydia huffed. “I’m running the tavern today.”  
Abe grabbed her arm, pulled her behind the barrels, and crouched down so they were somewhat concealed in the shadows.  
“Abe, what is going on--?”  
“I need you to listen carefully so you can tell all of what I say to Anna, alright?” Abe said seriously.  
“Ooh, gotten into writing poetry, have you? Anna isn’t that type, and you know I can’t recite for horseshite—”  
“Lydia, I need you to listen to me. This is not a game,” Abe growled. “I think I might’ve found a way to rid ourselves of Captain Simcoe.”  
This was definitely not what Lydia had been accepting to hear.  
“Captain Simcoe? He’s upstairs, are you insane—”  
“But no one will know we’re involved,” Abe interjected.  
“Abe, if we want to make bloody-backs start dropping dead, let’s start with Eastin and the Oyster Major—”  
“Lydia, just shut up and listen to me!” Abe frustratedly stated. “Ben Tallmadge has devised a way so we can signal him in secret.”  
“Ben? You mean Benny Boy Tallmadge?” Lydia said excitedly. “He’s coming here? But I thought he was with the Continentals—”  
“Yes, yes, he is,” Abe said impatiently. “Anna will tell you everything later, I’m sure. He’s going to send a courier. We’ll meet in one of the coves along the bay and you will signal him which one.”  
“I will? And Abe, this sounds a lot like you’re going to be a spy or something—”  
“You or Anna, it doesn’t really matter which of you. Your home backs onto the water. When you hang a black petticoat from your peg line, they’ll know when I’m ready to meet.”  
“Black petticoat,” Lydia echoed, her mind whirling. So, is Abe a Continental spy now? About time he stood up for what he believed in, even though he’s doing it in secret.  
“Look, it’s not my plan,” Abe sighed. “It’s some idea of Ben’s with General Washington—”  
The cellar door suddenly opened, and Lydia and Abe both looked up, eyes huge.  
“—but it’s how we get Simcoe,” Abe finished, and Lydia quickly stood up as footsteps came down until Lydia nervously realized it was Simcoe. 

“Need any help down here?” the redcoat asked as he ducked his head underneath the doorway and stepped into the cellar.  
“Uhh-h-h… yes, thank you. A bit heavy for me,” Lydia stuttered, nodding. She did her best to not look down at Abe, and instead resolved to looking at the barrels, with an occasional glance up at Simcoe.  
Instead of going to grab a barrel, however, Simcoe began drumming his hands on the barrels, and Lydia looked up confusedly, and almost immediately paled at the strange-looking grin on his face. Though she was sure he wasn’t purposefully making it look that way, Lydia found his grin a bit creepy.  
“Barrel. ‘Over a barrel’,” Simcoe chuckled. “Know what saying I fancy? ‘Over a barrel’.”  
Lydia looked down and saw Abe grabbing a knife on one of the shelves and she bit her lip.  
“Do you like that one?” Simcoe inquired.  
“I never was one for sayings and such, Captain. Now, your men are thirsty,” Lydia said briskly, walking out from behind the barrels and towards the stairs.  
“They can wait,” Simcoe stated, stepping in front of her, in the way of the only entrance—and exit—of the cellar, and Lydia bit back a gasp.  
“They do what I tell them to do… because they know what’s good for them,” Simcoe said, silently drumming his fingers on one of the barrels. Lydia bit back her fear as she looked up at the Captain’s pale blue eyes.  
“I expect,” Lydia quietly uttered, swallowing back the near-terror in her throat. “You’re captain now. I took note on the epaulette of your coat.”  
Not really knowing what she was doing or why, Lydia brought up a hand to caress the said silver epaulette on Simcoe’s right shoulder. Simcoe had his eyes on her hand, and it took all Lydia could muster to hide her anxiety.  
“I’ll take special care not to damage it when I finish your laundry,” Lydia told him, working out something in her head and hoping Abe would understand. “I’ll hang it myself, just as you requested. It’ll be waiting for you Saturday morning.”  
“Ah, I’ll be gone Saturday. Back Monday,” Simcoe informed her.  
“Monday then,” Lydia nodded once. “Now, my brother and I used to lift these together.”  
Lydia put a hand on one of the barrels, shifting away from Simcoe a little so their faces weren’t so close. “Shall we?”  
“No need,” Simcoe responded, picking up one of the barrels and carrying it himself. Lydia grabbed the lantern, casting a glance towards where Abe was hiding, and following Simcoe up the stairs.

***

As soon as she got home that night, Lydia swiftly made her way up to her bedroom, passing Anna on the way. She gave her sister-in-law a meaningful look before hurrying towards her room, Anna quickly following.  
As soon as both were in the room and the door was closed, Anna asked with almost panic, “What did he do to you?”  
“What?” Lydia frowned confusedly, turning to look at Anna.  
“Simcoe! What has he done to you?!”  
“What in the world are you talking about? He’s done nothing to me,” Lydia told her, not wanting to divulge Anna on the encounter in the cellar. Nothing serious had happened, so there was no sense in saying anything. “I was meaning to tell you that Abe is back—”  
“Yes, I know he is,” Anna sighed, shaking her head.  
“Let me finish! He said that he has a way to signal Ben. You know, Benny Boy Tallmadge. He said that he wants one of us to hang a black petticoat on the peg line when he wants to meet Ben’s courier. But I suppose you know this already, since he asked for you and then told me you’ll tell me everything about this Continental business.”  
Anna took this in for a moment before sighing.  
“So, what’s the deal? I can’t know just part of this whole spy thing—”  
“Lower your voice,” Anna snapped.  
“I’m sure Abe told you everything already, so what is it that I don’t know?” Lydia whispered fiercely.  
“Abe left early Tuesday morning to trade off the rest of his cabbage. Apparently, Caleb is running a shop out of his whale boat on Devil’s Belt—”  
“Wait, Caleb? You mean Caleb Brewster?” Lydia brightened, an image of her crazy, adventurous friend immediately popping into her head.  
“Yes. Abe says he’s practically the same as he was before he left for Greenland or wherever,” Anna said, smiling a bit. “He also met up with Ben—”  
“They were together? Ben and Caleb?”   
“No, Ben is a dragoon now,” Anna answered.  
“Just like he always wanted to be,” Lydia grinned, proud of her friend for becoming a soldier in the Continental Army.  
Anna nodded.  
“He tried to recruit Abe for a secret mission. Against the British. I’m guessing it’s for him to be a spy, due to what you said…”  
“And Abe accepted! So he’s a Continental spy now? We’re going to help him, right? He’s already asked us to signal for him—”  
“Lydia, slow down,” Anna said, resting a hand on Lydia’s shoulder. “He said he wasn’t going to earlier, but it looks like he’s changed his mind.”  
“He better not change his mind every five minutes,” Lydia groaned. “The last time he did that, he ended up marrying the wrong—”  
But Lydia stopped upon seeing the look on Anna’s face.

“Did he say when he wants the signal?” Anna asked.  
“Well… not exactly. He said something about getting rid of Simcoe—”  
“He’s got a plan to get rid of Simcoe?” Anna interrupted, looking a bit too elated, in Lydia’s opinion.  
“Apparently he does. I told him we should try to get rid of the Oyster Major or Eastin first, but he didn’t listen. Just said we need to signal for the courier. I believe he wants it before Saturday, though.”  
“Saturday? That’s tomorrow.”  
“Then I’m sure he wants it tomorrow.”  
“Did he say he wants it on Saturday?”  
“No, but I think that’s the day he wants the signal up.”  
Anna regarded her suspiciously, but didn’t question the matter any further.  
“He didn’t say who the courier was?”  
“No. Just that Ben will send one. Too bad, I’d really like to see Benny again—”  
“Lydia, we’re not the ones going out to give anyone information,” Anna said firmly. “That’s Abe’s work.”  
“So, all we’re going to do is be Abe’s little signal, but nothing else?” Lydia questioned heatedly.  
“I don’t know, all right? Abe just got back today and told me everything I just told you. I don’t know what else to tell you other than do not let anyone else in on this.”  
“I’m not stupid! Just because I’m younger than you and Abe and everyone else doesn’t mean that I’m a naïve little child,” Lydia countered indignantly.  
“You open your mouth without thinking sometimes, and I wanted to make sure—”  
“As do you, and you don’t see me reprimanding you all the time, do you?”  
“Lydia—”  
“Anna, I’m not your little sister, or your child, or anything. Stop correcting every single thing I do.”  
“No one else is going to do it!” Anna snapped. “Stop acting like a child and maybe everyone would stop treating you like one.”  
“You’re the only one treating me like this, even Captain Simcoe doesn’t—”  
“Why bring him up now? Hm? What are you hiding, Lydia?” Anna asked threateningly.  
“Nothing! I’m just stating the truth!” Lydia replied, a bit alarmed.  
“But of all the redcoats you could have mentioned, you chose him. Why?”  
“I—I don’t know! But he stalks me and acts politer to me than you do, and he at least treats me like a woman.”  
“Oh, does he?”  
“Yes, he does!” Lydia wished Anna would leave the subject of Simcoe alone, for once.  
“And how would you know? He follows you at more of a distance. Unless—”  
“Anna! Stop! I’m not seeing Simcoe in anyway other than dinner and at the tavern! Alright? Just stop.”  
Anna did stop, but was still glaring at Lydia heatedly.  
“I am absolutely disgusted by the very notion of myself seeing Simcoe,” Lydia continued, shuddering. “You know he frightens me more than anyone or anything, these days. I have no affections towards him whatsoever. I don’t know what makes you think I do.”

Anna’s gaze had by now softened, to Lydia’s relief.  
“I know. I’m sorry, I just got—”  
“Riled up, I know,” Lydia interrupted, quirking a smile. “That happens a lot.”  
Anna nodded, smiling back a bit, before saying goodnight and leaving the room.


End file.
